I have long believed in the soft hum of destiny—a gentle yet persistent voice that calls us to parts unknown. In 2021, that melodic invitation first led me to Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region in northwest China, a land so vast it joins deserts and grasslands, mountains and skyscrapers, all within a single, breathtaking sweep.
On my very first day, I set out to interview some Uygur locals for a social media video, hoping to unearth the genuine spirit of Xinjiang. Spotting a group of carefree young folk, covered with tattoos, sipping beer, I felt a little unease—would they be wary of foreigners here in Xinjiang after all the bad press from abroad?
As I approached them, it turned out the surprise was all theirs: They exclaimed that I was the first foreigner they had ever met. Laughter soon replaced my nerves, and in a jumble of my broken Chinese and their equally imperfect English, we chatted like old friends who simply hadn’t met yet. They insisted on buying me a drink, then generously invited me into their home—an offer I might have hesitated to accept in my own country, where trusting strangers doesn’t come so easily. Yet in that moment, hospitality felt natural, even inevitable, and I realized how quickly Xinjiang was shattering my preconceptions.
They welcomed me in, poured steaming tea from ornate pots and laid out a spread of local dishes. This was no ordinary meal. It was an initiation, a baptism by kindness, as if they were saying, “You are here, so you are family now.” That day, I learned that here in Xinjiang, food and affection go hand in hand—and how easily hearts could open at the sight of a curious stranger.
I left Xinjiang after some days, but two years later—in 2023, and again in 2024—I made my way back like a migrating bird returning to warmer climes. Each time, although in different cities, from Kashgar, capital of Kashgar Prefecture, to Yining, capital of Ili Kazak Autonomous Prefecture, the same warmth greeted me, people inviting me to their homes. Perhaps that is how Xinjiang welcomes wanderers—it gives them its heart so fully that they leave a part of themselves behind, ensuring they must return. So it is because of this, I decided to begin a new chapter in my life in Xinjiang.
Being here, there is so much to explore. I’ll truly never be bored. Xinjiang is seven times bigger than my own country, the United Kingdom. Indeed, I have roamed only a fraction of the region, because no matter how many times I return, there remain hidden valleys, scorching deserts and snowy altitudes yet to explore. From Turpan, one of the hottest places in China, to snowy Altay, where you can imagine yourself in the Alps, with ski slopes galore. The grasslands of Ili were also a wonder, with many Kazak nomads living and traveling in the mountains in their yurts, herding their livestock along the way.
As someone who is about to graduate with a Ph.D. in artificial intelligence (AI) from Shanghai Jiao Tong University, people often ask me, “Why Xinjiang? Wouldn’t Beijing or Shanghai be more logical hubs for tech?” But I see beyond the immediate. I look toward the future, imagining how AI might knit together the region’s myriad cultures and landscapes. Xinjiang, in particular the city of Karamay, has already begun to explore that path.
Known historically for its oil production, Karamay in north Xinjiang is leaping beyond its past and into a new era powered by state-of-the-art data centers. Many might not be aware, but China’s DeepSeek, a Hangzhou-based tech company that recently created an impressive AI open-source large language model, shocking the world, collaborated with Karamay to accomplish this.
So here I am, back in Xinjiang for another chapter. This is a place of open doors, whether in the humble houses that greet you with tea, or in the advanced data centers that pave the way for the future. This is how I came to Xinjiang and why I stay: As I explore this place, I am uncovering aspects of myself that I never knew existed. –The Daily Mail-Beijing Review news exchange item
